Moan
by Pandemic. At the Porno
Summary: The thought never occurred to him that he couldn’t quite differentiate moans... However, the thought that he didn’t quite care -about any of this- did in fact occur to him. -Dark, warnings inside-


**A/N: **Hey thar. Pandemic's back with another oneshot. Nn yes. Yeah, I've had a lot of ideas for fics lately, but I haven't had ANY time to write them out! Rather frustrating, really. **This may have slight spoilers up to the manga chapter 402… Or whatever…** I try not to give _too_ much away... Eh. Just wanted to warn you all about that too. Lawls, I started writing this when that chapter first came out. Yes, that's how long this was stewing for. The time setting..? Um… Whenever the 'invasion' occurs..? So, without further ado... Here be the story.

**Warnings: **Darkish. Sadistic!Sasuke. _Slightly_ descriptive gore. Possible 'hintings'.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Naruto or any of its characters. So there.

-

Tout ce **rouge** sur mon corps.

-

"What the hell are you doing?… This isn't like you."

He knew that. But did it really matter any more?

"At. All." Finality.

He was so sure of himself. But how could he be? The bastard didn't know him.

Didn't he know? He should by now, the twit.

Who he himself was didn't matter. It never did. Just his objective(s) in life (_get _**stronger**_, gather _**strong** _ninja, track Itachi, __**kill**__ Itachi, destroy…_) And now… Just his new found goal…

Ashen, slender lips narrowed further into a thin, grim line.

"This is freaking _pointless_ you know."

…_Do_ tell.

Slowly, pale ivory lids lowered over murky, glazed charcoal hues. The result was stunning; who knew his stare could become any more detached and apathetic than it already consistently was? Such a deep contrast, this shade of ivory and ebony, it could send shivers of delight (or of almost palpable fear) down any nin's spine.

"Your fucking freakish antics really aren't helping with the search. In fact, they're _delaying_ it. There are still a few running around..."

Oh, cursing now. When was he going to murmur something intelligent?

"…_Tch._ And obviously, this one's not one of them… Least not any more."

He grumbled out the last part, more to himself than towards the silent, stiff structured Uchiha.

"-Out like a light, not getting up any time soon, no matter how ya poke them. They did get slammed, after all. Took quite a beating."

Again, the speaker was answered with silence.

"…I already checked the other one a few meters from here. Out cold. 'Bout time… Bastard put up hell of a fight… He took down a few too. Think the freak in the mask's gathering him up and getting him ready right now." He could have gone on. Really. However, the silent, ruminating Uchiha was really getting on his nerves.

Lidded onyx slowly roved over the fallen form, its crimson splattered limbs curled in on itself. Laid on its side, a single arm lay on the ground before it, twisted at a rather bizarre and grotesque angle while its other arm was set contently beside it. Long lithe legs bent slightly at the knees, one leg being closer towards its midsection while the other was sprawled out behind their form. The position looked dreadfully awkward and uncomfortable. The form was almost completely motionless, though as his seemingly empty gaze continued up its frame, his dark irises soon stopped and shifted, movement naturally enrapturing its focus. Its chest, it seemed, wasn't thoroughly stagnant like the rest of… her.

Up… **Down**…

Up… _Down_…

Rise… **Fall**…

Rise… _Fall_…

Shallow, slow breaths. The rise and fall, the shaky shudderings of her chest was the only indication that she was, in fact, still alive.

…_Crimson._

"…I _thought_ you said you 'severed those bonds'." Clearly, this came out as an agitated huff, the bridge of his nose along with his brows slowly wrinkling in what seemed to be perturbation or, perhaps even disgust. Christ, he was acting odd… _Er_. Odd_er_ than usual.

The soft susurrations of the yellowing, decaying (not to mention somewhat scorched and slightly dirt matted) grass beneath indicated that the speaker clearly shifted his weight, favoring his right foot over his left as he stared down his oh-so-captive audience…

An audience, which barely took in a word he'd said. An audience that hadn't acknowledged his _presence_ yet let alone look at him during his brilliant 'speech'... So much for being captivated.

With a roll of his almost pale azure irises, he snorted and abruptly turned on his heel, adjusting the weight of his large, broad weapon with a roll of his shoulder. Well, it didn't matter too much. It'd probably pass soon enough. "…Just hurry the hell up."

The grass continued to whisper amongst its selves in an almost conspiratorial fashion as the speaker walked off, the grass's murmurings slowly dying until there was nothing.

Nothing.

Not a single sound.

Nothing… Nothing but the sound of slightly labored, shallow breaths which now held no real particular set pattern.

Her face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat (perhaps due to illness, perhaps due to physical exertion or injury. He hadn't delved that far into her condition quite yet), giving her face an almost waxen appearance.

Long moments dragged by, the only set course action he'd taken was silent observation.

Paling pink lips had parted long before he'd set foot on the scene, gulping down as large quantities of breath as possible. Her forehead (it really wasn't as wide as she thought it was) was creased slightly, her neatly trimmed brows bunched and furrowed together, clearly indicating her will to push through the evident pain she must be experiencing.

Slowly drying rivulets of crimson skirted freely from shallow cuts down her forearms, only to leisurely drip, descend, disperse and mingle in the rouge shoal beneath her.

Sasuke watched her form unblinkingly, seemingly fascinated by her beaten visage.

Tickticktick…

Moments slowed to a sluggish crawl with no signs of change. The Uchiha made no attempt to help the pink locked kunoichi. Made no move to adjust her awkward limbs. Made no move to tend to her flowing wounds… Though, after a few more silent, long moments of silence, as if he'd come to some conclusion, he shifted slightly where he stood and suddenly hunkered down beside her.

Haruno Sakura of Team Kakashi, once upon a time known as 'Team Seven.'

…Hmph.

Still so pitiful. She'd improved, yes (in skill and in appearances, he had to begrudgingly admit)… But, she was still so weak.

_**Weak,**__ like the rest of this pathetic village…_

A callused hand reached out towards her scuffed face, brushing the rosette tresses damp with sweat and blood away from her brow. The simple, seemingly affectionate action (though, in all reality, all the action had been was Sasuke's odd obsession with trying to keep things in order) roused a pained moan from the depths of her throat. It was a scratchy, pain filled noise, yet…

The sound stirred something deep within him, what it was he wasn't certain. Slender fingers drew away from her battered visage, his brows furrowing contemplatively. Silence reined once more, not even the whispering grass dared to interrupt his musings with their connivance.

To his ears, he decided with narrowed, furrowed brows, it was a ('delightful') interesting, acoustic sound. It's not like he didn't know what it was. The sound she'd produced was a moan, obviously. He'd heard the sound before, yes. Of course he had. With his… Profession, he'd most definitely heard it before, though (bloodcurdling) screams were far more common.

However, point is, he'd never heard it _quite_ like _this _before. Sasuke, naturally, had heard the sound in all different kinds of tones and volumes… Though, he could never really… Identify them. Pained, annoyed, pleasured, grieved, inarticulate pitiful utterings… They all sounded the same. The thought never occurred to him that he couldn't quite differentiate moans… However, the thought that he didn't quite _care_ **did** in fact occur to him.

Fingertips ghosted over pale features, his expression unreadable. Callused pads ran feather light over closed lids, running along the somewhat curved row of long lashes. Faintly, he could feel her irises shifting upward under the movable thin flap of skin… Drifting southward, he stroked her cut riddled cheek, only to receive another (delightful) sound. Though, the moan was short and sounded almost grunted out, as though she had been attempting to hold back the audible, natural response. Hmn…

Deciding (merely on a _whim_, really) to get comfortable, he sat back on his haunches, leaning down lowly beside the rosette. Now comfortable (at least as comfortable as he could get on this terrain) he decided to continue his... What would he call it? Exploration... But, _was this really a good idea? Should he just leave her or..? _ For a moment, he let his gaze drift from Sakura's fallen form, to his surrounds. This night was exceptionally dark, perfect for the Invasion.

Only the heavy glow of the sliver moon sliding through alit the forest floors, the shimmering stars long ago blocked out by a fresh quilt of darkness, dew and cotton. The heavens rarely allow the stars to glimmer on nights such as these, rarely allow something as pure as a star's radiance to set pools of crimson ablaze. Only when they truly feel bitter do they allow this.

After a few more moments of watching the terrain around him (and deciding that yes, it was alright; the stars weren't watching them anyway), he shifted his attention back to the fallen kunoichi.

His hand slowly traveled towards her blood-glazed lips, a look of concentration set on his features. With bizarre languor to his movements, his thumb stroked her full (and absolutely succulent) bottom lip, smearing the dulling globules of crimson in an uneven coat over the slit flesh. His hooded gaze scrutinized her for any reaction while his ears perked slightly, more so an involuntary reaction than anything else (after all, in actuality, he'd wanted to hear a reaction slip past lips coated in the finest film of rouge…). Her pink brows merely twitched in perhaps a pained fashion, her blood cloaked bottom lip quivering slightly against his digit. Again, she still seemed to be trying to hold back her body's sounds of distress.

…Was she still conscious? It would explain why she was trying to stop herself, and how earlier her eyes had lulled about in their sockets… Perhaps she was hoping he'd leave her alone so she'd be able to escape?..

In under a second, his seemingly relaxed, lidded stare brusquely became intense, red, and narrowed in a menacing manner. With the same precipitance, his hand (that had been relaxing beside him only half a second earlier with absolutely no detectable drawn tension) shot out and gripped her clammy neck, his grip firm and unyielding. With an almost unconventional, calm and completely leisure pace, his other hand (which had been stroking her bloodied lip) reached towards her right closed eye.

A blood-coated thumb planted itself firmly just beneath her eye, brushing over her top lid in the process and smearing some of the dark rouge over her eyelid. His index digit did the same, only he'd placed it over her top lid. His grip on her neck tightened. She made no move, no struggle at all. There was no change in her breathing or pulse for that matter; her breaths still shallow, and beats still fluttering. Quickly, he pried her lids open in a sudden flick of his fingers and… There was his proof.

Her dark, abysmal pupils were wide, dilated due to lack of exposure to light… Though even when they were exposed to the little light of the moon, they didn't budge. Her pupils made no contractions, no adjustments to the little light they were exposed to. He continued observing her eyes for a few more moments, finding the contrast of red he'd smeared against her lid with the green of her irises eerily appealing, before he released her lids from his grasp.

Satisfied, his eyes bled back to black as the hold on her neck too loosened till it no longer remained… Yet, his hand still lingered against the cool damp skin, his gaze as cool as her flesh and as infinitely empty as her pupils.

'Perhaps,' he mused silently, his eyes unblinking. 'Perhaps she enjoys it…' But '_no_,' his rational thought interrupted ('where have you been all this time?'), shaking the sleep from its countenance. '_No she couldn't possibly_,' it reasoned, '_for she is unconscious_.'

"She makes these (delightful) sounds because she enjoys it_._"He would ration back aloud against reason itself. How could such a sound suggest other wise?

'_My __**dear**__ boy'_, again it tried sugarcoated logic with a hint of sarcasm,_ 'just because she mutters pleasing articulations, doesn't mean she enjoys these ministrations. Just look at her! She's-'_

And that's when reason would be forcefully shoved back to the corners of his mind, to mingle with the memories, walk with the whispers, the mere wispy ghosts of a proud clan's oblivion. He'd done that too when it tried to advise against the Konoha invasion. When it tried to tell him that '_this isn't what your __**big brother**__ wanted, not what he worked so hard for. There's an obvious reason why he tried to discretely protect you, even now, from Madara. It's because _this _is what a mad man spoilt by the dark grasp of vengeance for years yearns.'_

Well… Wasn't that what he was now? Thanks to his dearest big brother? The one who both protected and destroyed everything, least to him? The one he considered more important than this slimy village? The one who now needed vengeance (revengerevengerevenge 'still want it, still need it') for his almost martyr-like sacrifice for a village that cared little for the Uchiha? He was still family, the village is at wrong! '_How funny is this? So quickly you are deterred and swain at the pure mentioning of the clan. Would you really go against all of what your brother has worked for (the mad man himself said how much he actually cared), against what you-'_

Why would he bother responding?

**Ration would be his downfall.**

Impassive onyx narrowed into mere dark slivers, his lean fingertips biting into Sakura's flesh for but a moment, before yet another (delightful) low moan broke through his thoughts. The Uchiha looked at her through angered narrowed eyes for a moment, before his gaze slowly became lidded and frigid once more. Again, he looked her disheveled form over before he leaned in closer to her.

Narrow, furrowed brows crinkling, twitching inward. Full, paling, crimson smeared lips quivered, her small, _**squeezable**_ throat quaking with every intake of fresh air. Her chest too rattled precariously, suggesting that she may, perhaps, have some sort of damage to a lung _('or, __**perhaps**__, it was a holler that never quite reached her throat.') _So close. So close he was, the very air she struggled to take in ghosted in warm, moist exhales against his lips in short, harsh pants.

A single, slender digit slid across her crimson smeared, fluttering lower lip, stopping over the bleeding slit… His cold visage remained… as he pressed the tip of his finger against the surprisingly deep slit, aggravating the slowly closing cut. He continued coaxing blood to bubble and leap to the surface, in turn also coaxing a short string of quiet whines to slide easily past her bleeding lips. His lids fluttered for a short moment, watching as his appendage slowly became enshrouded in the heated rubicund. The pressure he applied to the small wound slowly slackened before he brought his finger to his own lips. His tongue darted out, gliding against his bloodied digit. Just a taste. Just a taste to see it was her.

Sharp. Coppery, metallic. Slightly salty, slightly sweet. Other unnamables. It was…

What a bizarre urge he had. His hand darted towards her wrist (likely broken, like the rest of the twisted, mangled appendage) uneven, cracked and split nails sinking quickly into her clammy skin as he gripped her hard enough to feel the broken bones shift beneath her flesh under his unyielding grasp. He was rewarded with a pained, whimpering groan, her form instinctively attempting to, as carefully as possible while still in an unconscious state, shift away from the source of pain. The Uchiha's grip tightened as his other hand began to press lightly against her stomach- her reaction was immediate then. Shuddering, quick gasps and gulps of air, and a ('_heart wrenching')_ weeping wail pushed past her broken lips. Her natural reflex caused him to lean in closer, their foreheads pressing lightly against one another as she breathed in his wispy exhales. Lidded onyx stared down at the rosette's pallid features. Was he… _Reveling_ in her reactions?

He brought his hand back up from her stomach when he began to feel a rather _slippery_ heat, a fluttertremble skirted through her form the moment his hand left her stomach. Shifting and turning his face slightly from her's, causing his cheek to press against her crinkled brows; he gazed for a few moments at his hand… -A hand that was now bathed in _('jesus there's so much of it'_) slick, rusty scarlet liquid. Hn. She had _quite_ the wound there… Slowly, he pulled his face fully away from her's, just to take a brief look-see at the damage. An oval of muddled, dark red hues had formed over her stomach, and it was _('Sakura's _blood_ for god's sake') _brilliant. A deep shade of rufous already marred the outline of the blotchy oval stain, (in his eyes, it appeared to be almost _rutilant _under the moon's faint glow) though rusty ruby dominated the majority of the bleeding fabric. He had to tear his eyes away from the sight, wiping his saturated hand upon the silent grass (_'what a sicksick_sick_ fuck'_). It was…

His attention was drawn towards her once more as she stirred under his harsh grasp, whimpergasps as soft as the evening zephyrs' faint whisperings glided past her split lips.

Her slit parted lips were coated in an uneven, glossy, thick coagulating red sheen that all but smothered her lips' natural luster. He seemed contemplative for a few silence filled moments before a single short and simple, yet sure and confident, thought streamed through his ever-calculating mind,

'One more taste won't hurt.'

Again the Uchiha rearranged himself so he was lying much too close to the fallen kunoichi and her endless thickening pool of rouge. Sasuke minded not how his shirt was now likely becoming saturated with the substance. Minded not that he was _much too close_. He didn't really mind that his hips were mere inches from the Konoha nin's own ('developing, finally hinting at a feminine figure, huh?') hips.

And he also didn't mind that he was practically melting into her side either, his head leaning in _much too close_ to her halo of coral.

It was…

Frightful twittershudders fractured and splintered down his spine, snaking down and out to only rattle the very marrow of his bones (he later blamed the spasm on the chill riding on the, at times, rampant wind). The already bloodied hand rose from its stationary position to merely be set upon Sakura's bleeding abdomen, lean fingers pushing torn, saturated fabric further up her battered torso. Without looking he could tell it was a large slash that cut deep and a little awkwardly. It seemed she'd tried to dodge the attack (perhaps something hindered her from doing so) and though it was deep, he didn't think it hit anything major.

Almost contemplatively, he fingered the slit flaps of skin, merely pulling and pushing the sliced skin back and forth… Though, after a few moments, he burrowed fingertips in and underneath the sliced flesh. Liquid heat instantly enveloped his digits as they rotated, scrapped, and pressed in further beneath her skin (he always wanted to get underneath her skin, though he never figured it'd be taken so literal). Then, without the least bit of hesitation, he pressed and ground, compressed and knead, crushed and thrust his hand against the flowing and gaping wound (_that's it, lather the blood on your hands_), eliciting a string of cryhollers to erupt from her beaten throat. Groan-like sighs rumbled through his own throat, quickly released in a single exhale through slightly flared nostrils as he continues his (_rather sadistic_) ministrations ('_if you could even call them that'_).

The mangled wrist, still in his tight grasp, was lifted and slammed beside her, causing another pained wailsob to tumble past her lips. So like a leech, he sank and pulled and drank. His sharp pelvis pressed weakly at first to her hip, seeming hesitant, before she released yet another pained sound accompanied by a violent tremble that shook her entire small frame. Nails plunged and raked, catching bits of flesh as his hips pressed more firmly to her, gyrating in a single slow roll. Just once and he'd swore he needn't do it again. Just once, just to see what it felt like against her… He couldn't help but notice, later, that he couldn't do something _just once_ when it came to her.

His hand still pressing slightly against her abdominal wound, the other wrapped around her battered wrist, his hips rolled, more slowly this time, against her again. Obsidian rolled slightly beneath half lids as pearls sank into chapped lips. Burying his face firmly into her coral locks, pearls instantly seeking out an ear to descend to, he let out a sound akin to a grunt as his leg curl around one of hers, his hips beginning to pick up an almost sluggish (yet steady) pace. Sadistic ministrations merely continued as he released her wrist, only to favor the very tresses he'd immersed himself in. Long, slender fingers threaded roughly through pink strands, pulling aggressively at the follicles as his ivories (at first) nipped lightly at her lobe. _At first_, it almost seemed like he was experimenting with the ear… That is, before his teeth sank brusquely into the soft flesh.

Tears mixed and melded with red rivulets, creating a pink translucent trail to seep down clammy cheeks as she let out a string of whimpers, whines, moans and gasps. The damned sounds.

His tongue ran against her now bloody ear, the wet muscle lapping up any traces of the metallic tasting liquid it could find on the soft flap of flesh. Hips pressed, ground, and rolled faster, more feverishly against her mostly still form. Hands dug, pulled, tugged, yanked. Dipped, scrapped, crushed, and mashed. Lashes fluttered, lids shut, nails stabbed. Lips parted and gulped down air greedily in breathy gasps, his tongue resting still against the wounds of her ear. Then, tension released, hips thrust viciously in quick, brusque, jerky movements before he stilled. Shudders snaked up his spine in savage bursts, light flashed behind his eyes.

"Sak…"

Panting, his eyes slid open as he lay there still for a few moments, pulling away from the pink halo he'd submerged himself into to gaze at her beaten visage.

It was…

A waste. Imperfect. Fragile. _Weak_. Repulsive. Insignificant... _Annoying_.

The thoughts, foul they be, couldn't be held back from showing upon his visage. Disgust marred his aristocratic features as he spat out with hardly contained venom, "You wouldn't be in this predicament if you weren't so…" She wouldn't have hardly a scratch on her if she'd only have listened. For someone so smart, she sure was… "Annoying."

Holding back a snarl, he released his hold on her hair, throwing it aside as though it had scalded him. Unwinding himself from her (a loud whimper drifting in her throat as he removed his hand from her abdominal wound with a sickening, wet squelch), he stood a little shakily, his breathing just about back to normal.

"SASUKE! Where the hell are you?!"

He'd wanted to ignore the shrill yell and clean himself up (blood and other whatnot was not comfortable dripping and drying), but instead, he found himself staring down at bruises, scratches, and pale skin hardly covered with the scraps of tattered nin-wear she often wore. Leaning over, he picked up her red Konoha headband, his expression unreadable as he gazed at its marred, slightly scorched surface. Stuffing the article in his shirt, his legs quivered slightly, looking as though he'd been about to cave and kneel beside her…

Though his legs soon steeled themselves despite itching fingertips.

He'd given her a chance.

He turned slowly, gaze no longer lingering, as he calmly made his way toward the shriek. Later, he'd wash the lathered blood from his hands and peel the skin from his fingertips (they _still_ itched). And maybe even, while he was at it, cleave the nails from the bloody husks (_something_ beneath the dead, hardened follicles squirmed and writhed).

For someone so smart, she sure was…

Foolish.

**-**

Against the black screen of night… Stirring occurred. Limbs shifted, eyes lulled beneath heavy lids, fingers twitched, lips quivered. Then, a deep, jittery breath filled emptying lungs before ivory lids snapped back, revealing pale beryl. Deep, abysmal spheres became pin thin and filled to the brim.

**-**

**A/N: **Finnnn… Yuh, it be unedited. Because I'm lazy. Eh, I'll get to it some time. Mm, on a lighter note… The computer kept screaming at me to change 'Sasuke'… To 'Seasick'… Or 'Susan'. You have no idea how tempted I was to give into its demands. Cx Oh. And please review. It would be real awesome if you did, seeing how this is my second fanfic and I'd like feedback. If you have any questions, I'll answer them to the best of my ability. Thanks for reading. :3


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